


Our Hollow Hearts

by anna_sun



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Angst, Blood, Cigarettes, Gore, Like people literally die, M/M, Multi, Murder, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Serial Killers, Smoking, blowjob, handjob, so dont read if you aint into murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7869700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anna_sun/pseuds/anna_sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John was only a child, he found a dead bird in his family's great garden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Hollow Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Basically the sinful Serial Killers AU none of you have ever asked for. Hope you enjoy? Seriously, it's pretty gross. Someone should stop me. 
> 
> Also, I have to say that the concept of consent if kind of ambiguous at times? I don't wanna throw the R word but, if it's something you're a hundred percent triggered by, I wouldn't recommend reading this. John is a manipulative, basically sociopath asshole of a man. I do not support anything he does, and so I can't stress this enough : Read The Tags Carefully. 
> 
> Oh, and by the way, this isn't in any sort of chronological order whatsoever. It's broken pieces of their story stitched together to make it look like a fic. I really hope it doesn't get too confusing.

When John was only a child, he found a dead bird in his family's great garden. The thing laid helplessly on the ground, ruining the scheme of perfection his mother had worked so hard to create with every flower and strand of grass standing up at equal length, and John found himself mesmerized. The bird's feathers were shaded with grey and white, it was ugly and squeaking in pain, but John didn't even stop to wonder what exactly had happened to it. He just stared at it until its little wings stopped flapping in weird, non-constant patterns, and it died. It's only then that he took it in his hands and felt a strange urge to squeeze it, to feel the blood dripping between his knuckles and traveling down his arm, even got a ghost tickle from it. But he didn't. No, instead he went back to his dad inside and handed it in front of him thinking, ''Dad, look at how precious, at how tragic.'' Henry Laurens didn't think anything of the sort, though, and John was left wondering in what ways they were related. His father yelled and ordered him to put that thing back where it came from, and once it was done he grabbed his child by the collar, slapped him across the face and spat in his face that he was beyond repair. He still remembered his mother's cries and the disgusted look she bore on her face.

He'd cried that night, but now he didn't cry anymore. He knew better. Not everyone had the capacity to understand beauty, dreadful beauty, _real_ beauty. Raw and flesh and everything in between. Not even his parents.

John did.

He was looking at Miss Sampson on the ground now, formal nurse and formal mother, thinking she probably was never pretty until now, with blood gushing out from her guts and tiny groans still escaping her lips. He thought she probably had a good life, too, was even maybe blessed with a good husband and good children, but nothing good ever lasts. John knew that, knew it like he knew the cigarettes that constantly burned away at his fingertips. The one he was dragging breaths from right now perished away and so he had to flick it off onto the ground, immediately bringing another one to his lips. He watched the flame ignite at the end and was lost in thoughts of wishing to be a cigarette, to burn and fade away too, when Gilbert spoke.

''Have you gone mad?'' He half whispered, half yelled in the dead of night as he picked up the cigarette butt from the ground, fingernails still stained with Miss Sampson's blood. He wasn't in the best of positions to talk about anyone going mad here. They were probably all already destined for the asylum. ''Your fingerprints are on there, fucking idiot.''

John shrugged, said that if something as stupid as a cigarette butt sent his ass to jail, then he probably deserved the sentence. Gil buried the evidence of John's presence here deep in his pocket. He didn't even seem to mind the remaining ashes potentially ruining his jeans.

Alexander, on his part, stayed silent about the whole matter, back resting on the wall of the compact alley they found themselves in, and John observed him. He was always in a weird mood after a kill, always needed to get into his own mind and think for a while. Him and Gil learned this a while ago, that Alexander was only ever silent when somebody met their horrible faith. As for John, well, after a kill John just found himself high. Didn't know what did it or why, but he didn't really care, either. He just looked at Gilbert and smiled as he stepped over Miss Sampson before kissing him, own hands bloody too, leaving beautiful, red trails on Gilbert's cheeks.

''Stop, Johnny, this is not-'' John shut him up with another crash of lips on lips, even forced his tongue into his mouth before he was pushed away. ''This is not the time.''

Really, if it wasn't for Lafayette, John believed both he and Alex would be in jail by now. They'd probably get caught fucking at the scene, or maybe just sitting there, sharing drags of a cigarette until morning came.

But Gilbert knew what to do after the storm, how to stop their boat from sinking. Unlike them, John believed Gil wasn't part of this, whatever this was, because he wanted it, but because he needed it. As if his mind was only clear of worries once he had a knife deep in the belly of some stranger, and that afterwards, he could be himself again. A functioning member of society, pretty and polite and everything his parents raised him to be. His nights out with John and Alexander were how he coped with things, and John envied how clear he seemed to be afterwards. John simply felt himself wanting more, each and every time.

Gilbert was making gestures for them to leave already, but John couldn't help but look at her again. He laughed, tapping her with his foot, getting no reaction. The woman was dead, had been dead as soon as she'd crossed the street earlier that evening and checked out Laf with hungry eyes. It wasn't hard after that to get her into the alley, for Gil to grab her by the hair and whisper sweet, sweet profanities into her ear before stabbing her low in the belly with his pocket knife.

Alexander had protested, claiming ''No fair, why did he get to do it,'' over the woman's cries. Faint groans had still been escaping her lips when he crouched down and finished the job, dragging his own knife along the flesh of her insides. Gil made sure she didn't scream, one hand holding pressure on her mouth, and well. John couldn't have helped himself, desperately wanting to feel. And so he did, diving one hand deep into the warm blood, and God, did it feel good.

And now it was done. He laughed some more, exhaling a breath of smoke as he fell on one knee next to her, looked up at Alexander.

''Isn't it beautiful?'' he asked him, knowing his dear friend would snap out of his own reverie and get back to reality. _Their_ reality. Gilbert was beautiful and he knew of beauty but he didn't understand this part of it, not really.

Alexander did.

''John, my love.'' He sounded wicked. ''It's beauty in its purest form.''

John smiled, finally content, and Gilbert interrupted it all with, ''Will you please do it, so that we can finally go?''

John groaned, stared at him with eyes blazing fire when he said, ''Don't fucking rush me, Gilbert.''

Gil swallowed and nodded, pacing around nervously. His hands even seemed to be shaking, but John quickly turned his attention back to Miss Sampson, concentrating on important matters. Alexander stepped closer once he saw him take her firmly by the jaw and open her mouth, knowing what was coming next. It was the most important part of all.

John took his last drag, tapped the ashes into the woman's mouth and graciously put out the cigarette on her forehead, a bit off center.

-

Good and bad thoughts came and went and John met Alexander as he was lighting up his third cigarette in a row, standing outside of the bowling place he worked at on his break and thinking about his pitiful life. The dark, velvet red of his pants fit well with the brick wall behind him and the still lit ashes flowing their way to the concrete ground.

''That's gross,'' the stranger had said, staring at him with his judgmental little eyes because John is an addict, and addiction to nicotine was now, apparently, gross. John scoffed, slid his eyes away when the gesture burned his throat and brought a cough out of him. He wasn't embarrassed but he still had said, ''Fuck off,'' because he had enough of people telling him how to live his life.

Alexander, surprisingly, laughed at the crude remark, and it was in that moment that John painted him as different from the rest of the sad, boring populace of this earth. He had expected him to leave, to go on with his day thinking he'd done a ''good'' thing by telling a rude stranger that smoking was, quote on quote, gross, but instead, Alexander laughed brightly.

John promised him a good beer and convinced him to come with him, laughed when Alexander's confused eyes stared at him and he asked if he really could just leave his job in the middle of the day. John smiled, remembered innocence still existed in this world, and spat out that they could fire him if they pleased, that he didn't care, as he shed off his working vest onto the ground and rested his arm on the other man's shoulders, still taking drags from his death stick. Gilbert was loaded anyways.

The self centered and egocentric prick also happened to absolutely adore Alexander the second they both walked through the door.

John and Gilbert knew only of two words when they were around each other. Fighting and fucking, fucking and fighting. They fought and they fucked and they didn't really make up. It felt all the same to John, really. It didn't matter if Lafayette was punching him, threatening to slit his throat or fucking his mouth. He always got the same rush from it, the same poison running through his veins, one they call adrenaline. They lived together but they didn't, not really. They crossed paths and shared the same cartoon of milk, but it was when Gilbert was biting promises of agony into his skin that John really felt something. Sometimes, the other man would dare grab John's head with both hands and swipe his thumbs across his lips, murmuring things in french before kissing him. John's blood ran cold in those moments, and he knew he grew stiff as a board, until Gilbert eventually managed to kiss him pliant.

Alexander came into their lives because John deemed him interesting enough, and changed that. Not that he meant to, John knew he didn't. Alexander was soft and kind and new to this world, like a newborn waiting to be taught. He didn't mean to ruin things.

Not that he did. He just, made them different, somehow.

He never, ever, could have thought it would bring them to this.

''You were so pretty tonight,'' Alexander bit the words into Gil's skin, nipping at his earlobe. One of Alexander's greatest qualities was that he knew how to play. John simply watched. ''It's like your eyes were red, boiling. Still, you managed to look so...''

''Elegant,'' John finished the sentence for him, coming up behind Gilbert and bringing Alexander into a kiss above his shoulder, tired of watching. He'd been aroused ever since the first drop of blood had been shed, and he now made sure Gilbert knew it, pressing the hard length of himself against his ass before grabbing the other's crotch. That way, their bodies were completely flushed together, and Gilbert moaned. It was utterly obscene.

Alexander looked sad, even had the audacity to pout, as if they were kids in kindergarten and John had just stolen his favorite toy away. He was mine first, John thought, all mine, but tonight he decided he was willing to share. He couldn't really resist _that_ face, anyways, and so he slowly unzipped Gil's pants, laughed when he felt lace. It was an open invitation for Alex to fall on his knees, and he knew it.

And so he did. 

He started by mouthing over the fabric of Gil's underwear, pretty baby blue panties, getting them all wet with rough swipes of his tongue in a matter of minutes. John accepted that no one could give oral like Alexander, not even himself (and he used to praise himself over his skills. They were nothing compared to this.)

Alex brought his hands up Gilbert's thighs, right until both his index were hooked in his pair of jeans and he pulled them down, eventually off. Both men moaned when they saw it all, how the panties did nothing to cover Gilbert's cock, how his shiny, wet pink head still poked out the side. It should have looked completely ridiculous, but somehow it didn't.

Alex smiled that smile of his, palms caressing their way up Gilbert's legs. He pressed his face against Lafayette's crotch and inhaled as he dug his fingers into the meat of his ass. Gilbert's hips thrust up on their own accord, and John found he disagreed. He decided to be useful and placed his hands firmly on his hips, tongue hitting the roof of his mouth to make a _tssk, tssk,_ sound.

''Now, now,'' he said. ''Patience.''

Alexander nodded, continuing to mouth over the panties as he barely granted Gilbert any friction. It was absolute torture, even just to watch, and John found himself feeding on it.

Finally, Alex pulled the panties down. Lafayette groaned when his arousal sprung free, erection probably starting to hurt by now. John winced in sympathy. Though Alex didn't pay any attention to that, no, instead he took his time removing the panties completely, slightly tapping on Lafayette's ankles to show him when to raise his feet up.

Alex then kissed all the way up the length of Gil until he gave the head a sinful lick, taking it into his mouth. He sucked, eyes looking up and hair falling all over his face already. He looked beautiful.

It's then that Gilbert grew tired of being the toy.

''Do you think we could, ah,'' he spoke to John as he let his head fall back on him, interrupting his own sentence to take a breath as Alex took more of him into his mouth. He was on his knees but he listened, too. ''Do you think we could get someone to do this, to let me use their mouth before we,'' he had trouble finishing the sentence, face flushing red, but John smiled, encouraged him with a kiss on his cheek. ''Before we just, slit their throat. Let's fucking slit someone's throat.''

The earth stopped spinning, and John felt like he might just choke and die on his own breath. It hit him in a wave of heat low in his belly, and he moaned, got rid of his pants and underwear with one hand before he connected them both in front of Gil, really holding him by the waist as he started thrusting against him. ''Insane, you're insane,'' he said as his dick slipped through between his thighs, and it fucked up Alexander's rhythm but he didn't seem to mind, simply closed his eyes and opened his mouth wide, in for the ride.

They were a mess, still standing at the foot of the bed for fuck's sake, but no one took the initiative to stop and move to it. Maybe it was because they were all right where they should be, John thought. Where they belonged. He'd never felt more at home than with Gilbert and Alexander bringing him to an orgasm.

Or, well. It was a close second to the thrill of a kill.

And so Gilbert was taking it so well, giving it all back to Alex. The simple sight of Alexander getting his mouth fucked so good was enough for John. Alexander was so good, always so good, eyes shadowed by tears threatening to fall, eyelids fluttering just rightly so. John wanted to kill him, taste his guts, stuff him and put him on the wall. He'd be so pretty, John thought, painting the walls red.

His orgasm was unfairly ripped out of him too soon. He came between Gil's thighs and trashed against his back until there was nothing more, until he was left staring at the strings of saliva spilling from Alexander's mouth with every thrust of Gilbert's hips, pretty and flushed, making it a wonderful sight. His own erection started to flag but the heat in his belly didn't dissuade. His grip held Gilbert's hips tightly and he continued to hump against him, even if the friction gradually grew unbearable. But it was the burning that John really liked, and Gilbert's pretty pink inner thighs after everything was over.

John eventually slowed down, before he brought himself to tears, and stepped away from Gilbert's body, ignoring the stickiness of it all and tucking his now soft dick back into his boxers before zipping his pants back up. He then caught sight of the mess he left between Gilbert's thighs, making his ass look more like an art piece than anything else, and so he gave him an unexpected smack of his palm, strong enough that the skin stung pink and raw. Gilbert couldn't help but thrust his hips forward, making Alexander gag (a pretty, ungodly sound), and Gilbert finally came.

''Down the throat it goes,'' John laughed as Alexander swallowed, mouth swollen red. Their Alexander looked more wrecked than amused when he let his ass rest on the heels of his feet, dick still confined in the tightness of his pants. He looked up at the both of them, but Gil was still recovering, so.

John took pity.

He gently pushed Gilbert away before falling on the ground, walking on his knees and crawling over Alexander's thighs. It was a stretch for his own pants, but this way, he had Alexander's head firmly in his hands, fingers finding their place between his tangles of hair as he let him drool on his shirt, over his belly. John kissed the top of Alexander's head before he let his hand travel down between their bodies and he applied pressure where Alexander needed it the most. 

Alexander's mouth opened wide and he moaned, always vocal, almost pornographic.

John let his hand fall into the rhythm it knew so well, giving just the right amount of pressure, holding just enough back. It was mesmerizing, to see Alexander lose himself like this. He was already gasping and moaning without restraint, and by the time John connected skin with skin, Alexander came. He hugged John's body closer to his own until the very last drop, but John concentrated on the wrinkles disappearing from in between Alexander's brows, and the way his mouth fell slack, relaxed. It was a pretty damn sight.

The three of them all basked in the afterglow for a while, before John eventually stood up carefully, sore legs thankful for it. He smiled, tied his hair back.

''You guys go take a shower. I'll call the pizza.''

-

''Johnny, Alex, have you seen?'' Gilbert barged in the kitchen one day, dropping a fat newspaper onto the shiny granite counter with a loud thud as John and Alexander were baking brownies.

And then there was a poorly written article and Alexander slow dancing with the New York Times as he gave a very dramatic rendition of the piece. There was Gilbert jumping onto the counter and laughing with a cigar balancing between his fingers, and there was the sudden twitch in John's stomach when he saw the headline, making him feel nauseous that his name wasn't in broad letters above it all.

But then, there was also Alexander slowing his steps to an halt, frowning as he read the next few sentences out loud carefully.

'' _Police have reasons to believe the recent killings that have been terrorizing most of downtown New York in the past few months might be the work of a Serial Killer._ Most deaths share a lot of similarities, _Policeman Jenkins affirms, and while the possibility is scary, it is one we definitely need to take into consideration._ ''

There was an heavy moment of silence, like their music was on pause, right until the oven beeped to confirm it was ready and Gilbert rushed to say, ''Okay, that doesn't necessarily mean anything.''

John boiled because he could hear the undertone of fear in Gil's voice, lips quivering just so. He snapped.

''I'm not afraid of any fucking cops,'' he claimed because it was true, defending his honor from something no one accused him of. ''Fuck that. Burn that shit article. We're greater than that.''

He stole Gilbert's cigar and paced around the perimeters of their joined kitchen and dining room, tearing at the strands of his hair until his scalp started to scream and Alexander had to soothe him with a brush of hand against his shoulder. It didn't really work, because even if John concentrated on Alex's voice and recalled Gilbert jumping to his feet from the counter to get closer, he still felt stuck in his own head.

''We are,'' Alexander agreed, even though John knew he didn't totally mean it. They were just words he threw in the air in a poor attempt to make him feel better, because Alexander still had a kind heart underneath his rib cage. John realized maybe he'd been selfish all along, and that he should have let Alexander go a long time ago now.

Instead, he kissed him.

''Alors, brûlons cet article de merde,'' Gilbert said, didn't interrupt the kiss but took the newspaper and walked his way outside, lighter still deep in his pocket. Alexander understood the french, smiled as John deepened the kiss, and backed away.

''C'mon, it was your idea. Wouldn't want to miss it.''

-

''Mom, why does everything beautiful die?'' John asked when he was ten years old and in the backseat of the car, staring at the never ending fields of flowers passing by the window in a blur. They were driving to one of dad's cousin's funeral, and the only things John could truly remember of her was that her hair always fell in breathtaking waves across her shoulders and that her lips were most of the time covered in pink, flashy lipstick. But she was pretty, more so than most adults John had ever met in his short life, that he knew. She even died young, according to mom. A tragic accident involving a drunk driver leaving the bar early in the morning and her walking the way to work.

John found he didn't really care. But he wondered, because she was pretty and she died, and the flowers in the trunk were pretty and they were going to die, and. John thought he'd found a pattern. And so he asked his mom.

She didn't answer, though. Simply pursed her lips tight and stared at him through the review mirror.

''Son, everything dies.'' His father had replied instead, strong hands gripping the wheel tighter, as if to remind himself he still had control. ''Stop asking fucking stupid questions.''

And so the first person John killed was his dad.

He brought his father closer to death with every word that came out of his mouth since the first, brought him to crippling alcoholism and boiling anger until there was nothing left of Henry Laurens but a broken shell of something that once was great and powerful. John remembered his dad by the stains of beer he left on the sofa and the holes in most walls of his childhood home. By the bruises John sometimes inflicted on his own body, just to remember. It was funny, really. Because Henry constantly praised strength, tried to raise his son to be a man, pure, strong, wanted to see John grow into a reflection of himself. Yet, when it didn't work, when John grew to be a fucking sissy, queer, _weak_ , Henry was the one who broke.

John had never seen a man crumble before, but once his sixteen year old self found his dad dead in their living room, gun in one hand and empty bottle of Jack in the other, he knew.

Death made everything beautiful.

-

The faint sound of skin rubbing on skin practically echoed in the bathroom, white tiles and white bath and white walls making John feel trapped. He tried not to concentrate on that, though, but on Alexander's mouth wide open in a silent gasp and the part of his neck that got exposed as he threw his head back. Gilbert watched from his seat on the edge of the bath tub, watched the two of them crammed in it with the pathetic excuse of hand jobs and comfort with a questioning eye. Maybe he didn't fully understand what John was doing, at this point.

Though Alexander was still crying, had been ever since they came back home. He wouldn't even let Gilbert touch him, had snapped away from the careful hand he'd rested on his shoulder in a poor attempt to bring him back to reality. He'd been staring into space, too. John had thought they'd finally lost him to his own thoughts, knowing the day was to come when Alexander would shut himself down to nothing but a pen and paper.

Though that day wasn't today. John made sure it wouldn't be.

He'd tried his best to breathe evenly, to not break the door open, when Alexander locked himself in the bathroom. But then he had a good look at the bloodstains still on Gilbert's jacket, at his own ruined clothes, had remembered what was still leaking blood onto the ground behind that bar. He wondered how they even managed to get back home without anyone noticing and calling the police.

Gil's eyes had been wide open and he was panicking, too, especially when he'd noticed the glint in John's eyes. Though he didn't stop him when John let his fist connect with loud, repetitive bangs on the door.

''Alexander, open the fucking door and let me in. I swear to God I'll break it to pieces.''

Alexander had opened the door. And here they were.

''Gil, baby, will you please turn the shower on?'' John asked, though not stopping the up-and-down movement of his hand. There was a moment of silence where John knew Gilbert must be confused but he didn't want to tear his gaze away from Alexander, and so he simply asked again, louder this time, ''Fucking turn the shower on, Gil.''

And so he did. The water hit John's back when it was still cold, dripping down Alexander's legs, who started crying even more. John finally looked at Gil, ready to kill him, but Gilbert pulled an apologetic face, turned the knob on a warmer setting.

Alexander was trying to hide his face in the crook of John's neck.

''It feels good, doesn't it? My hand?'' John let the words flow out of him as the water flowed on them, slowing down the rhythm. Alexander's right hand was gripping the edge of the bath tub tight, almost slipping, and he was shaking his head, trying to say something. Though his dick throbbed on John's palm, so John stopped for a fraction of a second, spit in his own hand, and continued.

''It's okay, I'll take care of you, see, I'm right there.'' John had never really been good with words, but he let his body bring them to life, shifted closer on Alexander's lap and ignored the wet sound his jeans made because of the movement. The water was going directly down the drain but at least it created a nice fog in the closed room, making it less cold and static. In a way John was thankful for it.

''You wanna know what I love more than you, baby?'' Alexander opened his eyes, looked at him, moaned. John smiled, whispered the next few words. ''What I love more than Gilbert?''

He was paying attention, now. John could see it well in his eyes. He was looking at him and there was fear, but there was also curiosity, admiration. There was fear and there were still tears but his body cooperated, and he knew, oh God, he knew.

''I think you already know,'' John purred as he felt Alexander's trapped lower body underneath him start to hump. He was bearing a pained expression on his face, but he nodded his head yes and gasped loudly.

John could hear Gilbert's harsh breathing over the running water, loud inhales and exhales, and so he looked back, saw him touching himself. It was their first time all together, and where John thought he'd feel shame, or even discomfort, he found joy. Peace. So much that he smiled around the next words that came out of his mouth.

''Gil loves it too, you know. Probably more than he loves me.'' He paused, sped up. ''It's fine. We can respect true love, over flings, sex, romance and all that other shit.''

Alexander swallowed and John practically heard the gulp, saw his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. Alex's words were careful and he looked away when he echoed,

''True love?''

John laughed, knew he must look mad as he stopped working with his hand in order to touch Alexander's body underneath his soaked clothes. He enjoyed the shivers it brought on his skin and the flush that appeared on his cheeks. It was beautiful, in its own way. The human body was beautiful.

''You know. Don't act dumb, you saw it all. I bet she's still clear in your mind, isn't she? Her poor, beautiful face.'' He laughed again. ''Her beautiful guts.''

He went back to jerking him off, and Alexander fucking loved it, it was obvious. John lost himself in it for a while, in _him_ , so much that he stopped talking, let Alexander enjoy this moment of calm before the storm. It was so stupidly easy to lose himself in Alexander.

It's when he sped up the rhythm again, own hand starting to feel sore, that Alexander's body tensed up even more, that his mouth opened agape in a silent gasp and that he came in John's hand. It was a beautiful sight, one John didn't know he could like so much he licked his fingers clean, because even though he loved Gil, he was never truly fascinated with him enough beyond his own need to come.

Thinking of Gil, John turned his head and noticed the man already had spilled his own relief onto his own hand and was wiping it with a piece of toilet paper. John started feeling really aware he was still sitting in the bathtub, mostly wet, legs cramped in on each side of Alexander's body. It wasn't the most comfortable position of all to be in, suddenly, and so he got up, turned the shower off.

Alexander wasn't openly crying anymore, and perhaps he was simply too tired to. John frowned when he looked at him some more, at how he didn't even have the strength to put himself back into his pants. The scenery almost started looking pitiful, and it was ruining John's good mood, especially after a kill.

He stepped out of the small bathroom leaving the door open behind him, not missing the ''You okay?'' Gilbert threw at Alexander.

 _He's okay_ , John thought. _He has to be._

-

There was yet another body on the ground and someone else's blood stained underneath John's fingertips, there was laughter and kissing and Alexander smiling into Gilbert's mouth. John looked at them, at the little home they'd created for each other in every crease of their bodies, wondered how he deserved them in his life. It was a miracle they found each other, he thought. He didn't know where he'd be without them but he knew he'd be completely alone. It was with a sappy, almost pathetic smile that he tapped over his jacket, one, two, three times, and his expression suddenly changed, turned into something corrupted. There were no bumps where there should be. No distinct, squared form in any of his pockets, not even his jeans.

He didn't have his cigarettes.

''Gil, honey, tell my you have cigs?'' he said, already knowing the answer to be no when Gilbert frowned at him. His gaze fell on Alexander, how he was still holding on to Gilbert's coat after their overly passionate kiss, and he didn't need to ask again.

''I usually steal some from your pack,'' Alexander answered the unasked question, sounding apologetic as he stepped away from Gilbert.

The panic settled low in John's belly, steadily. The girl they just killed was on the ground, the first of the new year, blood coloring the snow around her red, body already turning cold. They were deep in a forest, deep enough that John didn't need to be smart to know he couldn't just go buy some. It was too late. Completely fucking ruined.

Alexander and Gilbert both started talking over each other, but John didn't hear anything, really. They were like background music in a crowded room. He heard the voice screaming in his own head and the buzz in his fists, heard his dad yelling at him that he could never do anything right, heard the poor bird helplessly chirping to its death and the woods around him closing in on his body. He wanted to punch something, anything, _someone_ , but he settled on letting his hands fall over his face before they traveled to the top of his head and started tearing at his own hair. It burned just enough that he could start breathing again.

''John, Johnny, stop, I know this is- I know it's your thing, the cigarettes, but it's not important.''

John interrupted Gilbert straight away, harsh words snapping out of him before he could stop them.

''Important? It's not important? Fuck you, don't talk to me like that.'' He looked up at the sky, wished his hands would stop shaking, but when they didn't, he grabbed Gilbert by the collar instead. ''You just don't fucking get it, do you? It's- it's symbolic! It's what makes it more than just,'' he stumbled on his own words, anger twisting his tongue in all kinds of wrong ways. ''More than just guts on the ground.''

Gilbert then had the audacity to laugh, all heart and bright teeth, and John felt himself wanting to rip them out. He had a nice smile, too. Always had been. His grip tightened.

''Sure, it's fucking symbolic, helps your fucked up brain get over the fact you just killed somebody.'' He paused and John recognized that thoughtful look on his face, right before he pushed him away, John's throbbing hands practically ripping his collar off because he wouldn't let go.

''See, I get it,'' Gilbert added as he rearranged his clothes. ''The girl died cause you wanted to use her as an ashtray, cause Alexander loves you too much and cause I fucking liked it. _That's_ the truth. It's not art, it's not meaningful, it's just fucked up. Get over your fucking self.''

 _It's not the same_ , John screamed in his head, _not the same_. Artists always have their signatures, always sign their work, and to leave one uncredited was a much bigger sin than anything he'd ever done in his life. It'd be a forever lasting twist in his guts.

He looked at Gil, the man he was supposed to love, the man he believed he loved, but then Gilbert spat on the ground and made moves to leave. He even dared take Alexander by the arm as if to take him away from him.

John's fist connected with the side of Gilbert's perfect, pretty face before he could stop it.

''John, no, stop-'' Alexander cried out, stepping right in between John and Gilbert.

 _Maybe I'll finally rip those teeth out_ , John thought.

Gilbert tried to take a blow at him but Alexander was in the way so he missed, and John started laughing.

''See? Even God's on my side! Won't let you take me down!''

He was still laughing when he harshly pushed Alexander to the side, but his smile faded and his laughter turned into awful, broken cackles when he punched Gilbert in the face once more. Gil was strong, though, always had been, and so he recovered quickly, used his fist to get John right in the jaw.

''Gil- fuck, please, stop, he's just-'' Alexander was trying to defend him, bless his soul, and John stopped wincing in pain. ''He's had enough. You both had enough. Let's just leave, please, let's just go.''

Alexander's voice sounded frantic, hurried, but John didn't understand what they were in a hurry for. They were deep into the woods, practically in the middle of nowhere, and they'd just started.

Gilbert was the bigger man in all of this, though. And so he retreated, walked backwards away from John until he turned his back on him and left. Alexander simply stood there.

''John? Baby? Please, let's go.'' There was a pause until he added, ''I'm cold.''

John looked at him dead in the eyes, remembered when he found innocence in them. They'd changed, and the memory felt foreign.

''Bring me my cigs.'' He settled on, letting his back fall against a tree. ''I'm not leaving until I have a cig.''

Alexander sighed, on the verge of tears when he said, ''We'll get- we'll get caught, John, this was risky enough, if we-'' He stopped, changed his phrasing. ''If you stay here for long, you'll get caught.''

From _we_ to _you_ , from life to death, from art to slaughter.

John was fine with it.

-

Sometimes John dreamed of bones and lifeless bodies laying broken up on the ground, guts turned inside out and legs bending the wrong way making them look practically inhuman, much like broken Ken dolls. He dreamed of dipping his hands deep into the core of somebody, to really feel the life, the warmth. He dreamed of shedding Gilbert's skin to wear it proudly on himself, dreamed of kissing him bloody, dreamed of fucking him raw. He didn't know where the thoughts came from, all he knew is that they were there, always there, screaming at the back of his mind and lighting up every cigarette that dangled between his fingers. And he'd done more than most were brave enough to, he'd found passion and love and his hands had grown familiar with the handle of a knife. He was never a saint, that he'd accepted a long time ago, but he never believed he was the devil either. It was hard to, when he had people like Alexander and Gilbert loving him.

''Wish we could bring you some stuff,'' John heard Alexander's voice through the shitty phone speaker. The old machine had completely butchered the tone and elegance Alexander often held in his speech. ''You doing okay?''

For a second John could do nothing but stare through the dirty glass, trying to find debt and meaning into his eyes. It was then that he noticed they were teary, could even see the water pooling above Alexander's lower eyelid, already looking heavy and ready to fall.

''Don't you dare fucking cry,'' he ordered, ignoring Alexander's previous question. ''Not in front of me. Not when I'm the one in here. Please.''

Alexander withdrew the phone from his ear as a tear escaped and fell on his cheek despite John's words. He was clutching the telephone tight, John could see his knuckles turning white, and he swore under his breath before Gilbert snatched the phone from Alexander and spoke into it. He looked angry, John knew him enough to notice that, at least.

''Can't believe you did this to us, Johnny. Can't fucking believe it.'' He said, anger bringing his thick, french accent out of him. John didn't concentrate on that, though. All he did was usher the next sentences, as angry as Gilbert was at this point.

''Can't believe what I did to you? I'm probably going to get more than thirty years for this.'' He paused, bit his lower lip out of habit. ''You're the ones standing on the free side of that glass.''

For some reason his anger poured out of him as quickly as it poured in, and John was left staring at Gil's defeated glare and Alex's shaking body, head cradled in the crease of one of his elbows to hide his tears.

''Make love to him for me,'' he said to Gil, voice suddenly gone soft but still as serious as he could be. ''Make love to him good, promise me. Promise me you'll do it.''

Gilbert seemed troubled by John's phrasing, but nevertheless he nodded, accepting the request quickly. John was thankful for it. _At least they've got each other_ , he thought.

''I love you too,'' he reminded him, and Gil didn't say it back but that was fine. He hung up.

The men lined up on each side of him were all chattering, waving to their kids and making promises to their wives they couldn't keep. His reality was hard to grasp, when he heard the bell announcing it was time to say goodbye, looked at Gilbert forcing Alexander up to show him out. He could barely walk so much he was weak, and John didn't really know what to think, nor did he know how to feel. His mind just went back to bones and lifeless bodies laying broken on the ground, to sweat, tears, blood and death and the very things that used to make him feel whole. He'd become hollow, he realized. It was as if they'd taken everything from inside of him when they'd locked the cuffs on his wrists, and that now he finally _knew_  what death felt like.

He just wished he had better smokes.

**Author's Note:**

> This took a shit ton of time and effort, and so I really hope y'all liked it. Or found it really disturbing. That is an equally acceptable reaction to this fic. 
> 
> This also happens to be the most fucked up thing that ever came out of my brain, and so thoughts and opinions would be GREATLY appreciated. I will answer to every single comment. Kudos are really nice too, of course. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> (Y'all I removed the porn from this and gave it to my Lit teacher for a Creative Work Assignment. Idk how he's gonna feel about the whole poly vibe but whatever I'M LIVING)


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